


Kinslayer

by kylerooo



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Battle, Brother Feels, Brothers, Canon Gay Relationship, Darkspawn, Deep Roads (Dragon Age), Dwarf Love, Family Feels, Fantasy, M/M, i might change tags later, we stan dwarves and elves love in this house, zev and warden bi icons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2020-10-27 00:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20751299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kylerooo/pseuds/kylerooo
Summary: “Just… promise me you wont take what’ll happen in there to heart. That you’ll look at me the same way you do now, when we exit these doors again.”-A re-imagining of A Paragon of Her Kind, with a Zevran twist.





	1. Chapter 1

At this point, Zevran would claim he knew the Warden well. It had been months since his failed attempt to end the dwarf’s life, since his promise to help against the Blight in exchange for his life, and in these months he had gotten to know his past target and his odd companions. Zevran had also found that he quite enjoyed the company of them as well. He didn’t resent any of them, which made traveling with them more enjoyable.

He had quickly found, however, that he enjoyed the Wardens company the most.

From the very beginning Zevran had found Duran to be the most interesting, in the weird little group he had pledged himself and his life to. He was so eccentric and so different compared to the usual dwarves Zevran usually dealt with. The Warden seemed equally as interested in Zevran as well, asking him all sorts of questions about his life and his previous work.

Whenever he asked those questions back, however, he didn’t get much but vague answers and the dwarf brushing him off. Sometimes it annoyed him a bit, the fact that Duran basically knew all there was to know about all his companions and they knew nothing about him. But then he had to remember his own secrets, and so he decided to let the dwarf keep what he wanted to himself.

Soon, sooner than what he felt comfortable with admitting, Zevran found himself to become rather fond of the Warden. He had an odd way with his words and was incredibly charming as well. Zevran had never found a male dwarf charming before, but somehow it made the situation much more comfortable.

What started out with simple flirtatious joking around from both sides, which then had turned into a tumble of heated touches and hushed groans one night they stayed in a run-down inn in a village near Redcliffe, had now become an ongoing thing that often occurred when the two of them were alone.

As soon as it became a regular affair, Zevran made sure to pull the smaller man aside and asked what his intentions were. He had tried the whole thing where no one makes their intentions clear before, and it never went well. Duran gave him a half-assed answer, that he had grown up like Zevran, to take his pleasures where he could, and that he didn’t feel the need to label whatever they had going on, if Zevran didn’t either and they had left it at that. And so they kept the flirting going, alone and eventually even in front of their friends, and when they were alone they would fulfill the promises they had made.

That was the comfortable rhythm they had built up. Sometimes Zevran did feel something stir inside him when they were alone, though he decided that he wouldn’t pay attention to it. Duran seemed happy enough, that he got to release some of the pressure off from his shoulders if even for a fleeting moment, and so Zevran didn’t want to disturb that comfortable peace between them. And he still felt like it was too soon, the knot of hurt from his past still twisted tight in his chest.

After having helped the dalish elves with their werewolf problem and secured them as allies in their fight against the Blight, the next and last stop they had, in gathering their allies, would be Orzammar.

They all knew that their leader had grown up in Orzammar, and that he had lived there all his life before becoming a Grey Warden, but no one knew how he had come to meet Duncan or how he had been recruited. Alistair claimed to have had asked once, but apparently didn’t get much of an answer, so it was obvious that the dwarf didn’t want to talk about it, and they had all decided to respect that. Wynne had said something about friendship and how important it was to confide in your friends but also respect their boundaries. She kept talking, but at that point Zevran had learned to sometimes just let the older mage’s lectures tune out.

He had to admit, though, that his curiosity over the subject only got stronger as Duran appeared very intent on finding other, much smaller work for them to do before venturing towards the Frostback Mountains, much to the annoyance of the others. When they voiced their complaint Duran quickly brushed them off, saying they would go to Orzammar soon enough. It was soon obvious to everyone in the party that their leader was stalling.

After a few long weeks of doing minor jobs for not much coin, Alistair, Sten, Shale, and even Morrigan, ambushed Duran one night at camp. They sat him down, surrounded him and demanded that the next stop would be Orzammar. Wynne pointed out calmly from the other side of the campfire that the Blight would not wait forever, proving that she was in on the mutiny as well. Duran had looked helplessly over to the side to where Zevran sat, with Leliana and the dog, who Duran had appropriately named Beast, next to him, cleaning a bloodstain off his undershirt. He shrugged, deciding not to bud in and help his unlucky lover.

Zevran knew his inaction would bring him consequences, but at this point even he was tired of doing unsatisfactory jobs for unsatisfactory pay. And it was as Wynne had said, the Blight wouldn’t wait for the dwarf to get over his fear of his old home. After all they were still in desperate need of whatever help they could get.

And so, after some swearing and cursing and then compliance and silence from the dwarf, the group managed to convince their leader that it was time to move on.

After a day on the road, travelling across Ferelden to get to the Frostbacks and the entrance to the ancient dwarven city, Zevran had quickly noticed that Duran was treating them all with an ice cold shoulder, so being the wonderful and good lover he so proudly proclaimed himself to be, he thought to himself he’d better talk to the dwarf.

He decided the best moment for this would be at camp where he and the Warden had the first nightwatch. As always this lead to some sort of physical activity. Just some heated kisses and touches were exchanged. Nothing more, as that would leave the camp unprotected. At this point, they needed to be on guard at all times, as darkspawn had ambushed them at camp multiple times now.

After, Zevran found himself cuddled up to a firm muscled arm. At first their size difference had been a bit odd to accommodate to, but now he barely paid it a thought.

He nuzzled a cold nose into braided dark thick hair behind the dwarf’s ear, seeking refuge from Ferelden’s cold nights weather, which he still hadn’t gotten completely used to.

“So!” He said pulling a bright smile, face inches away from the other man. He quickly pressed his lips behind the others rounded ear. “We’re almost at Lake Calenhad, yes?”

All he got in return was a grouchy grunt. So, despite the allowed cuddle, he was still out in the cold for not helping him earlier.

Zevran let out a small sigh. “My dear Warden-” He began but was cut off, when the dwarf suddenly sat up and turned around to face him.

“Why didn’t you step in before?” Duran looked up and locked eyes with his elven companion. The hurt, clear in the dwarf’s expression, made Zevran pause for a second. He had never seen such vulnerability from the dwarf before. Given any other circumstance, the big broken puppy dog eyes paired with the rough dwarven appearance would have looked sort of comical, but Zevran pushed the smile from the thought down, as he knew it wouldn’t help his situation one bit.

“My dear Warden...” he repeated but with a hint of distress at the edge. “You know we can’t avoid Orzammar forever. We’re in need of all the help we can get and the dwarves-”

Once again he was interrupted.

“I know that, but we have Arl Eamon’s men, the Circle mages and now the Dalish joining us, surely it’s fine if we-” Duran’s eyes were fixed on the fire in front of them.

“No no no, you are not thinking logically, Duran” Zevran said as calmly as he could muster, but it was clear he wasn’t the only one in the camp at their wits end with their burly leader.

Usually what they saw from the dwarf was a fearless warrior on the battlefield, who didn’t even blink once when having to run his great battleaxe, that was twice the size of himself, through an enemy and make the rest of them quiver in fear, knowing they would be next. In between battles, when they set up their camp, he was relaxed and so completely grounded in the world and earth underneath them. He could always offer a shoulder to lean on or a knowing sentence meant to calm his companions and their worries. If a deep chat wasn’t what was needed, he would understand, step back, and lay out a witty and casual conversation instead, with a gleam of laughter in his eyes.

It was unusual for them all, to see the Warden act so irrational.

“You know we need dwarven support, or we’ll reenact Ostagar once we reach the Archdemon.” He regretted the words the second they left his mouth, as the dwarf visibly flinched away from him, but he felt like Duran deserved the jab with the way he was acting.

Ostagar was still a touchy subject to bring up at camp, but it did the job of making Duran see the seriousness of the situation. He would feel bad for playing dirty, if it wasn’t like playing dirty was basically his entire profession.

“I know you are aware of this, Duran” Zevran said in the softest way he could. he leaned closer and nudged the dwarf’s cheek with his nose. “You know we can’t do this without aid from Orzammar.”

“Yeah, Yeah…” was mumbled back at him.

“Don’t worry!” He beamed happily at the frustrated dwarf next to him “With the dwarves, we’ll be done with gathering the allies and then all we have to worry about is this Loghain fellow and the darkspawn army!”

“Yes… easy... ” Duran shifted uncomfortably in his spot.

“Ah! Soon this will be a thing we'll look back on and laugh!” the elf tried hard to lift the mood. He snug an arm around Duran and weren’t rejected so Zevran took that as a sign that things were alright between them again.

Duran leaned slightly into the arm the elf had offered. Yet there were still a stiffy air around them. No one said anything for a while and Zevran thought hard to find something to ease the atmosphere up a bit.

“Tell me more about your adventures.” Duran suddenly said in a low, calm voice. Zevran let out a warm chuckle. It was a question Duran often asked him, where he then told him fun little stories about his past targets, how he dealt with them and the aftermath, and about his life in Antiva.

This time, though, he hesitated. He looked back at the conversation they had just had and the way Duran had acted when their destination had turned to Orzammar. The Warden knew more about the elf than he knew of the dwarf and that made Zevran frown slightly. Normally he was more careful with opening up to people. Especially if that person was once one he had tried to kill. But Duran had this feel to him, that made Zevran feel so at ease, which was a feeling he hadn’t found with many others in his life. Hopefully, Zevran thought to himself, Duran felt the same way about the elf.

It was too early to say anything out loud though. Instead he sent the dwarf a sideway smirk and nudged him playfully.

“Why don’t you tell me of your adventures?” He challenged. Duran laughed a bit and turned slightly towards him with a surprised look. He had never gotten that response before.

“There’s not much to say. Your adventures are more interesting, I’m sure.”

“I’ve told you many of mine, tell me one of yours.”

They looked at each other. Zevran felt the resistance Duran offered and decided to push him more. He was a bit nervous Duran might become upset with him again, but when he saw a familiar light-hearted smirk appear on the dwarfs lips, a familiar glint of laughter in his eyes, the elf relaxed.

Duran were the first to break eye contact and shrugged his shoulders. “I have nothing.” he said.

“You must have! Did you sit and stare at paint drying everyday before becoming a Grey Warden?”

Duran snorted out a laugh “Yes I did. It’s not as dull as you make it out to be, elf”

Zevran let out a huff of breath “Well it’s only fair that you tell me something from your adventures, surely.” He sent the Warden his best puppy eyes and when the dwarf saw him and sighed heavily, he smiled brightly in victory.

“Oh alright then… since you won’t let it rest”

Zevran let out a laugh in excitement and immediately got more comfortable up against the dwarf.

“Okay… I guess I can tell you about this one time about the first time I was in the Deep Roads.”

“So you have been in the Roads before, then?” Zevran asked.

“Obviously. I grew up in Orzammar, you walk down a sidestreet, drunk and lost, and you might end up in the Deep Roads.” Duran smiled warmly at the elf and his enthusiasm.

Zevran shivered slightly. The Deep Roads had never been even a tiny bit attractive of a traveling destination to him.

“Really?” He asked. Maybe he _should_ have supported Duran in not going to the dwarven city.

“Yes. I suppose you’ll see, when we get there.” He sent the elf a sideway glance of blame and Zevran cursed himself for agreeing to go to such a place. The Warden let it slide though, the look in his eyes softening.

“Sometimes Darkspawn even get through” He explained. “But they’re quickly dealt with, of course.”

“So I suppose you Orzammar dwarves are the perfect darkspawn killers then?” Zevran suddenly felt a need to redirect the conversation slightly.

Duran sent him a smile. “I guess you can say that. We learn from childhood how to deal the most damage on them and the most efficient way of taking them down without getting touched by the taint.”

“Odd that there aren’t more dwarven Wardens then.” Zevran observed.

“Yeah, I’m the only one in Ferelden, even before Ostagar.” Duran fixed his gaze on the fire in front of them. He got a more somber look to himself.

“Basically everyone in Orzammar look down on you people from the surface. They think of you as lesser just because you have breathed the air topside and been underneath the sky.”

“Most look somewhat favorably on Grey Wardens, but some also despise how they’re revered as heroes, when they only have to fight the monsters once every hundred years, when it’s a constant battle for Orzammar.”

Duran looked up and then over to the elf at his side with a small smile growing on his lips. “They’re all a bunch of jealous, old-fashioned assholes. You’re gonna love it.”

“You’re really not that good at selling this place to me. I might just wait here at camp for you to finish in there.” Zevran huffed.

“Oh no. You’re forcing me down there, I’m returning the favor.” Duran nudged him playfully with his shoulder. Zevran laughed.

“How did you feel?” He then asked. “About the Grey Wardens? Before becoming one, I mean.”

Duran was quiet for a moment as he considered the question. “Well…” He said. “As a kid, I heard many tales of the Grey Wardens and their legacy. I would dream of reaching such glory and when I first met Duncan, I was acting like a starstruck little girl, meeting her hero, it was so embarrassing.” He let out a flustered laugh.

Zevran barked out a laugh, then quickly hushed, remembering their companions sleeping in the tent. He couldn’t keep it in however, and chuckled, holding his stomach. He couldn’t even imagine Duran acting like that.

“I’m glad you find my shameful past so funny.” Duran laughed along.

Zevran grinned and put his hand on the dwarf’s shoulder. “You must have done something right with him, though.” He said and beamed at the Warden. “But tell me your story! Before the next on nightwatch wake up.”

“Alright then.” Duran smiled and started his story, with some ceremony “It was one of the first times I had been allowed to come along on an excursion to the Roads. Imagine me, barely out of my childhood years, in an armor that was too big, sword and shield on my back and ready to kill every single darkspawn in my way and become the hero of the day!”

Zevran smiled at the thought. “How on earth did they allow you to come along?”

Duran laughed. “I had my ways. I kept annoying my father with it until he let me come along. Of course the position he gave me were the one in the least danger. I was to stay in the middle of the group and only engage with the ‘spawn if I had no other choice. And even then, my father told me that I should run away before picking up my sword.”

“I’m sure you were eager to do that.”

“Fuck no, I was ready to fight every single monster I would find, with no care for safety or other precautions.”

“We had walked for hours without really meeting a lot of darkspawn, which I wasn’t happy about. I’m sure I was a lovely companion to travel with, the way I was complaining. We set up camp and I decided this was my moment. I, by the stone was I stupid, I picked up my sword and left the group and went down a smaller road to the side. I thought I’d go find a beast and bring back its head.”

“Of course it didn’t go as easily as I’d want it to. I wandered for a good hour before I was ambushed by a group of genlock scouts. They jumped on me, but I managed to kill one of them with my sword before they swarmed me. I realized at that point, that maybe I should have listened to my father.”

Zevran held his breath in. He couldn’t even imagine Duran acting so naive, but of course they had all been children once. “What did you do?” He asked.

“Nothing. I embraced my death. You’re hugging a ghost right now. Sorry I never told you. I’m a bit ashamed of it, you see.”

“You’re hilarious, I hope you know that.” He grimaced at the dwarf next to him. “What really happened?”

Duran laughed. “Of course I know, my jokes are priceless! But to answer your question, I fought and screamed like a captured nug. It didn’t do much good, of course, but before i was completely overwhelmed by them, a dagger flew through the air and hit one of them in the back of the head. As it turned out, one of the youngest members of the warrior caste had been allowed to join as well, and he had followed me. He, however, actually had somewhat of an idea on how to survive in the Roads, where I just wanted the glory of defeating a darkspawn at a young age.”

“My greed and pride had blinded me to the most important thing when you’re down there, which is survival. So after this guy had saved me from the beasts, I was on my knees, begging for him to teach me his skills. I was determined to learn more and after my father finally forgave me for my stupidity, he allowed me to take him as my second. Father also claimed he could help to keep me out of trouble, which I have no idea what he meant by that, I was an angelic child.”

Zevran decided to humor Duran’s horrible attempt at jokes and chuckled at him.

“Well, we became the best of friends after that, him and I. You’ve met him too!”

“I have? When?”

“Remember when we were in Denerim, and were looking for Brother Genitivi? We were at the marketplace and-”

“Oh, were he the dwarf you screamed at and tackled down?”

Duran barked out a laugh. “Yeah! He told me to find him in Denerim, but I couldn’t get myself to even dare to hope he’d actually be there.”

“But there he was.” Zevran looked up and found his companion’s eyes fixated on the fire, the melancholy look appeared back on his face.

“There he was.” Duran repeated and let out a small sigh. “I’m happy that he had found himself a new happiness outside of Orzammar. He’s gotten married and they’re expecting, so…”

“He seemed just as ecstatic to see you, as you were to see him.”

“He’s the best, most honorable dwarf you’ll ever meet.”

Zevran grinned. “I don’t know, I can think of another dwarf up for that title.” He said.

Duran hummed and returned the warm smile to the elf. Then his eyes fell onto the fire and he seemed to disappear into his own head.

Silence fell upon them. This time it was a comfortable peace, however. The only sounds were the nightly animals in the woods around them, the sleeping noises of their companions and the crackling of the fire in front of them.

In the quiet, Zevran considered if he should ask Duran more about his home and why the dwarf feared it so. It was something Zevran couldn’t really relate to.

Antiva was a country filled with so much richness and culture. The crown jewel of Thedas, she rest in the east. She has her flaws, but they help bring what good there is to light. Every bigger street in Antiva City were bustling with every kind of character you could imagine and so much life, it could be overwhelming to experience for the first time. Every smaller street were filled with pickpockets, prostitutes and of course, assassins.

His homeland had brought him a lot of pain. It had been the place for all of the hurt that had happened in his life, but even the thought of Antiva made his chest ache with the feeling of homesickness.

Seeing his companion in this much stress over the mere thought of returning home, was baffling to the elf, to say the least.

He decided against asking, though. He knew Duran wouldn’t answer or would become upset with him again. He felt a sting in his chest. Maybe one day Duran would trust him with the story. Perhaps one day he could trust the dwarf back with his story as well.

“Thank you for telling me your story.” he said. Duran gave a small grunt as an answer and Zevran felt familiar rough lips touch his forehead, a thick dark beard tickling the side of his face.

He sighed contently. In this moment, not even the damned archdemon could get him to move and disturb the stillness of the moment.

After a few hours of small talk and comfortable silence, Alistair and Leliana took over the night watch and Zevran welcomed some rest with open arms in the comfort of their tent, surrounded by blankets and furs and strong dwarven arms that held him close and warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi  
this is my first big fanfiction project so i hope you like it! it all started with me writing a little piece for myself about my Warden and Zevrans relationship so yeah.  
i've written 3 chapters so far and we’re only getting started! :P  
english isn't my first language so sorry for any mistakes <3


	2. Chapter 2

Zevran were not used to snow. He had only experienced it a couple of times and had quickly concluded that he wasn’t a fan. 

The first time he had seen it, it had been a magical experience. A beautiful sight. It had been a very unusually cold winter in Antiva and one night all the children the Crows owned, had gathered to the one window in the big warehouse they were all stored in. Little snowflakes fell from the sky and none of them had really ever seen it before. They had all yelled up and caused such a scene, begging the person standing guard outside to let them out, but of course they weren’t. Still, few of them got much sleep that night. It was a fascinating thing none of them had ever seen. 

The next morning the snow had disappeared, which made nearly all them nearly cry out of sadness, but such it is in Antiva and her warm weather. 

Zevran found that now, here in his new homeland of Ferelden, he didn’t find it to be as wondrous of an experience, as he had done as a young child.

The Frostback Mountains lived up to their name. Cold weather, snow and frost were everywhere. There weren’t much animal life up here, only a mountain goat or two off in the distance and a few gray looking, thin birds flying overhead. 

Zevran wore a thick fur coat with the hood up tight to cover his ears, with fur boots and gloves to match. He had stored his leather boots and dalish gloves safely in his backpack. Lovely antivian leather boots and real authentic dalish gloves with gorgeous engravings on them, both gifted to him by his lovely Warden. 

He had never thought that Duran had actually really been listening to his stories, let alone his rambles about a weird affection for the smell of antivian leather or depressing stories from his past. The dwarf doesn’t even come off as a gift giving person either, but there he had stood with the gifts, and Zevran felt his chest burst with happiness, the second he picked up on the sweet smell, and when he saw the golden depictions of hallas and trees. 

He was not used to receiving such gifts. Why would Duran even think of such a thing? Were he expecting something in return? Did he have something he could offer the dwarf, of the same sentimental value, as those given to him? 

“Are we there yet?” came a groan from behind Zevran, which threw him out of his thoughts. Alistair trotted up and passed Zevran, to walk beside Duran. “We must be, right?” 

“Impatient to be the tallest person for miles around, are we?” asked the smaller Warden, with a slightly crooked smile playing on his lips.

“Hardly. I’m freezing my limps off and would just love to know when I can get to cuddle up to a lava mountain?” Zevran nodded to himself under his hood, to second that notion. 

He heard a low chuckle from Duran. “Don’t worry, this is the path up to the entrance. We’ll be there soon enough.” 

Duran only just managed to finish that sentence, when a ball of lightning shot past the dwarf and hit a tree in the back. Life shot into all in the group and everyone reached for their weapons. Ahead were a group of people, with their weapons drawn as well. They had a mage girl with them, with her staff raised high and lightning dancing around her body, engulfing her almost completely. She couldn’t have been more than twenty years old.

A man, no doubt the leader, very big even for a human and dressed in heavy iron plate armor from head to toe, lifted his sword and shield up. He ran towards them followed by the rest of the group, apart from the mage and a single archer. The leader let out a rage filled roar as he reached Duran and swung his longsword. 

Duran lifted his battleaxe up and parried the blow, though the force of it did make him take a step back. 

“For the King!” roared the man, followed by another deafening cry of anger, as he took another swing at the dwarf. At this point, everyone had jumped into action.

Zevran ripped his daggers off his back and launched himself at the nearest foe, a poor man swinging away at Sten’s back, letting out a shrilling scream with every hit. The qunari was too focused on the enemy in front of him to even pay the fool a mind. Zevran jumped up and dug his daggers in the man’s back. He screamed and fell as the elf twisted the daggers and when they landed into the snow, he jumped off. The snow underneath the man stained red with his blood. 

An explosion of green sparks came from the other side of the qunari, as Morrigan came forth, swinging her staff around her body and another fell to the cold ground. 

Shale trotted up and with a small inconvenienced grunt, it grabbed the head of the poor man in front of Sten and smashed him to the ground. Zevran looked away. He felt like it was too early to lose his appetite. Besides, the day was young, who knew what they would get up to later on. 

Zevran looked up and saw Duran and Alistair, with Beast the dog in the middle, fighting the leader and two other guys, with Wynne glowing behind them. They could take them, they didn’t need his assistance at this moment. And so he turned his attention to the mage girl still shooting her lightning bolts. Wynne had put a small magic ward around the warriors in the group, so at least they were somewhat safe. Zevran, however, would have to be more careful to not get noticed.

He managed to lock eyes with Leliana, who seemed to have gotten the same idea as him. She gave him a curt nod and got another one of her arrows ready. Zevran stealthed himself, got up behind the mage and struck. The girl only managed to let out a small yelp before an arrow came flying and hit her up front in the chest. The archer next to her reacted, but he weren’t fast enough. Zevran ripped out one of the daggers out of the girl and sliced the man’s throat. Another arrow hit him in the side of his head. If he weren’t dead before, he certainly were now. 

Zevran let go of the archer, and let him fall to the ground. 

He looked up and saw his companions surround the last enemy standing, which was the leader. He fell quickly though, with a final hit from Durans battleaxe hitting him in the crook of his neck. Had Duran put more force into the hit, the poor man’s head surely would have flown off. Instead the dwarf pulled the great axe up and out, blood oozed heavily out through the wound as the body fell over. 

There were a moment of silence, as everyone looked at everyone and down at the corpses at their feet. 

Duran then kneeled down at the leader's body. He felt around and fished a pouch up. It was always a group effort to loot the bodies of their enemies. They didn’t have any support from a larger force, with the Grey Wardens being fugitives, so any kind of coin they could find or make, from odd jobs here and there, were very useful.

Zevran knelt before the dead archer at his feet and pulled a little coin purse up. 

“Look at this” He heard the dwarf’s voice call out and the group gathered around their leader. 

Duran held out a small crumpled poster found on one of the bodies. There were painted a small blue griffon on it, as well as the royal seal, and with bold letters it read; “Wanted! Grey Wardens have been found guilty, by the order of Regent Loghain Mac Tir, for the death of King Cailan and the army of Ostagar. Any Grey Wardens found within the borders of Ferelden are to be brought to Denerim for judgement. 100 sovereigns for each Grey Warden handed over to the crown!” 

“Bounty hunters?” asked Alistair.

“Probably... “ Duran said. He took one last look around. “Let’s keep moving. Keep an eye out for more.” He said and the party began to move again. 

They passed some big old pillars, that nature had visibly claimed. Zevran let himself have a fleeting thought about what they used to hold up, in their prime time.

Those thoughts quickly left his mind, however, as they passed the pillars and entered a big open space in the mountain. There were a big platform in the middle and around the platform there were some pitiful little open shops. There were mostly dwarven merchants at the stalls, waving at the few people there.

“Odd place to have a market...” Zevran observed. Duran shrugged. 

“It’s surface dwarves. It’s thanks to them that Orzammar can get most of its outside resources. Still they’re treated like nothing but dirt, when they come in. If they are allowed in, that is.” He explained, his voice and demeanor serious. 

“It’s difficult to get in?” Zevran asked. The dwarf let out a scoff. 

“Yeah, for them. We have the treaty, so they’ll have to let us in.” There were a hint of desperation in his voice, as if Duran said it as a way to reassure himself more than the elf. 

Zevran looked up and saw the gigantic door in the mountain side, on the opposite side of the market. There were a big group of humans in armor standing there, as well as a group of armored dwarves. They seemed to be in a bit of an argument. 

The elf shuddered slightly underneath his coat, partly because of the cold winds, but also because he knew they would have to use that door and interrupt this group, which never seemed to end well, when it involved the lovely friends he had made in this new homeland of his. 

Luckily, Duran seemed to be in no hurry to approach the group and the giant door, either. He looked up up at the doorway, sighed deeply and then he walked towards the large platform in the middle of the marketplace. Without any words, the group followed him. They gathered and their small leader turned, put his hands at his sides and spoke. 

“Alright, gang.” He said. “I have some things I gotta deal with before we go in, so let’s split.” 

With those words, the group drifted about the small marketplace in smaller groups.

Zevran looked around and saw Duran wander off with only Beast at his side, walking to the left of the platform, and Zevran figured he’d better follow. Wherever the dwarf went, trouble always seemed to appear. 

“Why the stalling, my dear Warden?” he asked as he came up behind the dwarf. “The door to Orzammar is right over there, you know? Surely the marketplace in there is more exciting, than what they have out here.”

“I wouldn't count on that.” Duran said. “There has to be a reason all of these merchants are out here and not in there.” 

Zevran shrugged. Duran was right, of course. As they got closer, it seemed more and more likely that getting the dwarves’ help would probably be about as easy as it was getting the Dalish elves’ help. Where Duran went, trouble followed. 

“And what exactly are your errands out here then?” He asked. 

Duran sent him a smug grin.

“You’ll see.” Was all the dwarf said. 

Zevran followed him to the side next to the stairs leading up to the great door to the dwarven city. Duran walked up to a tiny man standing to the side of the stairs, with his little booth of wares. He was a small pathetic looking human, with balding ashy brown hair and stubble. 

“Hello friends!” The man piped in a shrieking voice. “Come and see! Maybe my ‘slightly used’ weapons and armor will interest the likes of you and your-”

“‘Slightly used’?” Duran inquired. The man stopped in his track and nervously wrung his hands. 

“Ah yes…” The man said and coughed up an awkward laugh. “It’s the latest trend, friend! Why let the armor and weapon of the dead go to waste when they are still of use?!”

Duran let out a snort. Zevran couldn’t help but smirk. The laugh was mocking, and he had traveled and fought beside the dwarf long enough to know when he was looking for a fight. 

“That’s a fancy way of saying you’re a graverobber, human.” Duran said and the man seemed to grow smaller than the elf, dwarf and dog in front of him. Beast let out a long slow growl at the man, who eyed to dog, clearly frightened.

“Oh no, not at all, my lord-” He squealed but Duran put a hand up to silence him.

“It doesn’t matter.” Duran said and the man nodded enthusiastically along. “One gotta do whatever he can to survive. Isn’t that right, my good man?” 

The man lit up and rapidly swung his arms and hands around his wares. 

“Actually I am looking for something special. I was told you could help me find it.” Duran quickly said.

“O-oh?” The man stumbled. 

“Yes. You see, we travel with a qunari,” The man jumped slightly at the word. “who seemed to have lost his precious sword, made specially for him. Qunari value their swords highly, you see.” 

Duran stepped closer to the man, who took a step back and nearly tripped over a armor mannequin. “And when we went to find it at Lake Calenhad, we met your friend, who said you had taken it before he got there. We would love to give it back to its rightful owner.” 

Duran nodded towards Sten who stood on the other side of the marketplace with the others. They seemed to watch and judge, as Alistair tried his best to haggle prices of some dull looking gray foods. Zevran let out a little shudder in disgust. One thing he had quickly learned was that Ferelden people served better food to their dogs than themselves.

The man nearly fell over his little booth as he jumped into action and rummaged through his wares. After a minute he came forth with nothing but a look of terror on his face. 

“I’m so sorry, milord” He cried at them. “I don’t seem to have the sword anymore! See there was this dwarf, much like yourself, milord, who was very interested in it.” 

Duran sighed and sent a look in Zevran’s direction. He shrugged back to him. Beast let out a huff and digged his paws at the hard ground near Duran’s feet. 

“Where can I find this dwarf?” Duran asked, with a tint of annoyance to his voice. He grabbed Beast’s collar and held it tight. The dog growled darkly at the man, ready to pounce. 

“I-I believe he said he lived in Redcliffe, milord!” The man sobbed.

“Redcliffe?” Duran said with a confounded voice. “That must be Dwyn. There weren’t any other dwarves there.” He looked back at Zevran again, who nodded curtly. He let go of Beast who still had his eyes on the poor crying man in front of them, but stayed put at Duran’s side.

Zevran remembered the hateful dwarf they had met in Redcliffe. He hadn’t been with the group when they all tackled the undead in the village, but had been there later, when they had managed to revive Arl Eamon with the Ashes, and he had met some of the people there, after things settled down, as much as they could, considering the circumstances. That dwarf listened to no one but himself, and yet seemed to have an some kind of respect for Duran. 

Duran nodded back at him and turned his attention back to the poor merchant, who where still shaking in his boots. Beast licked around his mouth and let out another huff. 

“Well then!” Duran exclaimed and clapped his hands together. The man jumped slightly. “Thank you for your cooperation, my dear man!” 

The man sent them a small strained smile and nodded quickly. 

Duran turned and started to walk away, so Zevran went to follow, but the Warden then seemed to reconsider and turned to look back at the merchant. The man had already jumped into action and started to gather and pack all of his “slightly used” merchandise. 

“Of course…” Duran called and the man tensed and looked back with visible tears in his eyes. “If we find out you’re lying, we’ll make sure to find you, to let you reconsider that mistake.” 

One would think they had sent lightning magic flying and shot the man’s breeches, the way he dived to the side, swung his half full bags and started racing away from the marketplace. 

Zevran let out a laugh and pushed at the dwarf’s shoulder. 

“What did that little man do to you?” He inquired with a smile at his Warden. 

Duran chuckled and winked up at him. “Well, first I spoke to Sten about his lost sword. Then I spoke to this other graverobber at Lake Calenhad. And now I’ve spoken to this man. Now I gotta go speak to Dwyn in Redcliffe. I get around.” Zevran let out a laugh. Weren’t that the truth. 

Duran chuckled with him. “We aren’t done yet though, keep smiling.” 

The dwarf let them to a group of humans who stood to the side, skulking at everyone. Beast were already growling at them, with his ears laying flat down his back, before Duran had even said a thing. This exchange didn’t take as long as it did with the merchant. Duran walked up, said about two or three words to the person, who stood in the middle of the group. 

The man frowned deeply at Duran and looked at him, with a hurting look in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I can’t go back!” He said as he drew his weapon, as did his friends and so did Zevran. 

They all jumped into action. Zevran took a quarter of a second to look back for their other companions, who were still occupied by making fun of Alistair’s horrible bargaining skills on the other side of the market, but the sound of weapons being drawn and Beast’s loud, aggressive howls, seemed to make them aware of what was going down, and they were all at their backs in a matter of seconds.

The battle didn’t take long. The only person who seemed to have some if any training at all, were the man Duran had first addressed. Still, he was no match against Durans great battleaxe and after a few swings he went down with a small, sad wail. 

The rest of the group didn’t surrender after their leader fell, and so they were quickly taken care of. Like their last fight, there were a moment of silence after the last one had fallen. 

“Why can’t we leave you two on your own for a minute, without you getting into a fight?” Wynne looked at both elf and dwarf with a raised eyebrow. 

“Don’t look at me…” Zevran quickly said and reached down to rip his dagger out of the leg of one of their dead attackers. 

Duran smiled widely and innocently at the elderly mage. “They attacked us first.” He said and earned a tired but soft sigh from Wynne. 

A heavy silence had fallen over the market. The only sounds were the background noises of the people arguing at the giant door to Orzammar. 

This time they had had an audience to the fight, which always made things more awkward. The few people that were at the market seemed to either be watching them, with judgeful and scared eyes, or to be leaving with the same hurry as the merchant. It was obvious they weren’t gonna be able to do any more shopping now. 

“If you’re done antagonising the few humans present, maybe we should get a move on?” Morrigan snapped. Duran shrugged, still with a smile on his lips. 

“I just wanted to mess with some humans, before going in there and then we’ll be surrounded by angry, bitter dwarves for too long. I did everyone a favor.” 

“How long do you think we’ll be staying?” Leliana asked. 

“It will always be too long…” Duran grunted back. 

A silence fell on the group as everyone looked at their fearless leader, as he stood amongst corpses and didn’t move an inch. His head was down and he seemed to be examining his glove very intensely. 

With a loud, exaggerated groan Shale, who had been uncharacteristically quiet since they got close to the large entrance in the snowy mountains, threw up it’s large arms and turned around. 

“Enough of this fooling around!” It squawked, turned around and began marching towards the door. Everyone followed after the large golem, as they all seemed to apparently think the same thing. Wynne placed her hand on Duran’s shoulder as she passed him and offered a smile, but then she let go and caught up with the rest. 

Zevran turned and was about to follow. After all he too agreed with the animated rock. But then he felt… something. Something he couldn’t quite put it finger on. A slight hurt blooming in his chest. It wasn’t so bad he couldn’t pretend it weren’t there, but something made him not want to ignore it. Instead he let himself move according to the hurt, curious to see where it would lead him. It made him turn his back towards the dwarf and dog behind him. 

Beast sent confused eyes towards him and the rest of the group, as they moved towards the stairs and when he saw Zevran looking back, he started whining and licking at Duran's hands. 

There was a look in the dwarf’s eyes, similar to the hurtful look he had sent him back in the camp. Yet this time, the hurt didn’t appear as surface. It seemed to run more deeply. The look was gone within a second, however, so Zevran had barely managed to notice it. But he did. 

The look were replaced with a strained, thin smile on the dwarf. It didn’t suit him, Zevran thought to himself. 

“Well.” Duran said. His voice didn’t sound different to how it usually was. It didn’t portray the hurt look he had in eyes moments before. 

“That’s that, then.” The Warden finally moved and started walking towards Zevran. Beast seemed happy, at least, and started running towards the others. Some of them saw the dog, finally looked back and smiled as they saw their leader walk with heavy steps towards them. Duran gave a half hearted wave to their friends up front, as he caught up with Zevran. 

“Duran..-“ He started but the Warden interrupted him. 

“Don’t, Zevran…” He looked at the dwarf, expecting more. Duran seemed to consider saying more, seemingly fighting an inner battle with himself. 

Eventually he opened his mouth and, with the most fragile voice the elf had ever heard his Warden use, he said “Just… promise me you wont take what’ll happen in there to heart. That you’ll look at me the same way you do now, when we exit these doors again.” 

All he could do was nod at him. Zevran didn’t know the right words to soothe him. Not when he didn’t know the full story. Not when there was so much on the line. When there was so many unsaid words between the two of them. 

It seemed to be enough for the dwarf anyways. Duran nodded back and lifted his hand slightly. As they walked in the tail of the group, up the stairs to the colossal door, Zevran felt the edge of his sleeve being tugged gently. He didn’t look down, because he knew who the culprit was. He felt a smile bloom to his cheeks, and kept the moment to himself as they walked. 

The moment of affection was brief, however, as the yelling from the group became louder and louder as they approached. Duran let go of him before the rest saw. 

“This is preposterous!!” The man in front of the group of humans were yelling at the top of his lungs and waving his arms around, at the male dwarf standing guard. The dwarf didn’t seem even the smallest bit intimidated. “This is absurd!! Completely against every kind of-” 

The guard sighed deeply and the irritation was clear to everyone. 

“How many times must I repeat myself, human?” He interrupted. “There is no king to see to your request. Orzammar will see none but her own, until a new ruler has been elected by the Assembly.” 

As the group walked up next to the fight. Everyone in front turned and split to let Duran walk up and do the talking, as the leader.

Duran knew his place. Zevran looked down and they locked eyes for a moment. He sent the dwarf an encouraging smile, which was half-heartedly returned. 

Duran stepped forward and coughed loudly to gain the attention. 

“Uh, we need to enter Orzammar.” He said when everyone’s eyes were on him. 

The human had finally stopped screaming blasphemy and every person turned their attention to this new challenging group approaching. The man’s disgust clearly shined through. The dwarven guard’s eyes went wide, his bushy eyebrows flying up high. 

“You… what do you think you’re doing here?” The guard uttered and rubbed his hand at his temple. “Exile is forever, in case that wasn’t clear to you.” His voice and words were hard. 

“I’m not here for me.” Duran said with as much ice in his voice as the guard. “I’m here on behalf of-“ 

“It’s your fault that we’re even out here, Kinslayer.” The guard accused. “So do me a favor and just get out of here. You shame the ancestors by even standing out here.” 

A moment of silence fell over the group. Everyone’s eyes were on the Grey Warden. From where he stood, Zevran couldn’t see his face. He wished he had followed Duran to stand next to him. 

“I am not here for me.” Duran repeated. “I’m here on official Grey Warden business. Orzammar is obligated to help during-” 

“Grey Wardens?!” Squeaked the human. The guard looked back at the man, as if he had forgotten him and his friends, for a brief moment. “King Loghain has ordered the head of this dwarf and his associates!” 

Zevran tried to suppress a grin, which probably wouldn’t help the situation. King Loghain. So that guy finally had found enough encourage to call himself what he really was, instead of just staying with the regent title. He still couldn’t see Duran’s face, but he saw Alistair, who frowned deeply at the notion of Zevran’s previous employer being named king. 

The guard ignored the man completely. Instead he signaled to the other guards, standing behind him. As the guards moved towards them, everyone subtly put their hands on their weapon. Zevran stepped into a stance, where he easily could get to his daggers on his back. 

However the guard stopped in front of Duran and put his hand out. Duran reached into his bag and lifted out the treaties. He gave them to the guard, who also had a look of disgust on his face as he looked at Duran. He didn’t act on it, however. Instead he turned and gave them to the guard in charge. 

The guard looked the old papers through. While he did that, the human puffed himself up. Once again everyone seemed to have forgotten their existence, for a precious minute. 

“These are the murderers of King Cailan! In the name of King Loghain, I demand that you arrest these people immediately!” He yelled. When no one answered, the man’s face went boiling red hot. “If the king hears that you are showing more hospitality towards these traitors, than you show us, the-” 

“Will you just shut up for a moment?” Duran interrupted, his voice heavy with anger. “Run back to your false king, human. Orzammar won’t hear you today.” 

The man sputtered and huffed and seemed to get ready to start yelling again, but the guard lifted his hand with a quick and swift movement. 

“This document bears the royal seal… Seems we have no choice but to let you in. ” He said. “As I’m sure you know, we have no king to hear you, but you can see if you can get an audience with The Assembly.” 

The guard stepped aside and made another signal to the doormen, who started pulling the gigantic door open. 

Duran looked back. Zevran managed to catch his eye and sent him an encouraging smile and nod towards the door. The Warden seemed to hesitate a second, but then he returned the smile and then motioned for everyone to enter. 

When they passed the guard in charge, Duran was given the treaties, with the guard still sending him mean eyes, but no further words were exchanged.

When everyone was through and the door started to close again, Zevran could hear the human’s shrilling voice screaming at the dwarven guards once more. While he felt a little bad for the guards for having to deal with the humans, he still let himself smile in amusement. Considering how they had treated Duran, he allowed himself to not feel bad about it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Hope everyone had a great halloween!  
I'm really happy with how this chapter came out :)  
Today is Dragon Age Origins 10 year anniversary, so I thought it would be fun to upload today. It is probably one of my favorite games of all time, with character creation, the story driven gameplay and the choice to play gay, its just so freaking good. 
> 
> english isn't my first language so sorry for any mistakes


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Sorry for the long wait :O  
this chapter has been 99% done for so long but I couldn't get around to finishing it until now. ive also played with the layout a bit, also the previous chapters so now it looks better. 
> 
> so yeah enjoy this one! its like 12 pages in google docs :p

The hall they stepped into were huge. It wouldn’t take long to get to the other side, where another great door stood tall, but the ceiling above their head were so far up, Zevran couldn’t even see it. 

The room was filled with dwarven statues. The way dwarves carved their statues was so different to what Zevran was used to seeing, the hard symmetrical lines were so far from the soft curves of human and elven statues. There were large pillars around that held up the high roof. A handful of dwarves were in the room standing near the statues, but no one spoke with more than a whisper. It felt like a sacred room, like stepping into a Chantry. 

They walked down more stairs and got surrounded by the massive statues. 

“This is the Hall of Heroes.” Duran explained. His voice was hushed and low, barely audible. “All of these statues are of our Paragons. People come here to make offerings and that kind of stuff.” 

They passed a beggar, sitting against a pillar, hidden behind a statue, dressed in dirty linens and a long, gray dirty beard.

“Please, sir!” He wailed and lifted his hands, at the whole group. “All I ask for is some coin for bread!” 

Zevran let the fleeting feeling of pity for the beggar coarse through him, but made sure his face showed no sign of it. The beggar had made a mistake in making noise, he saw, as the guards near the door seemed to notice him. Two of them began making their way towards them. 

Duran fished out a few silvers and threw them towards the beggar who bowed his head deeply in thanks, and quickly hid them in his shirt. The Warden nodded to him and continued on. Zevran maneuvered up in front of the group, next to the dwarf. 

“Those guards…” Zevran looked back and saw the guards approaching the beggar, who quickly got to his feet and started walking towards the entrance to Orzammar. 

“They usually don’t want those kinds of people in here. How did he even get in here?” Duran mumbled back to him. 

Zevran paused for a second, before following the group as they continued. Duran usually treated the beggars, and other unfortunate people they passed on their travels with warm smiles. But the tone in the dwarfs voice as he spoke of this one sounded so different. Something Zevran had never heard before. 

They walked down in between the statues and passed a few dwarves. Two women stood in front of a large statue of a female dwarf. She held a hammer and stood tall over the two dwarves. 

“Now that’s a thing of beauty, daughter.” One of them, the mother no doubt, said to the girl next to her. “If you work hard like Branka, all of Orzammar will know your name!”

The daughter looked less than pleased and hung her head in defiance. “But mother, I don’t wanna be like her! She’s-” 

The mother hissed in a sharp breath. “Don’t say that! Not to me, not to anyone!” She sneered at her daughter, who looked like miserably back at her. “Now get back to the forge! I want to see more beautiful details!” 

They left. The mother grabed her daughter by the arm and marched towards the door, pulling a tearful daughter behind her.

The group continued, but Zevran quickly noticed Duran had didn’t move along with them. His head was turned to the side, seemingly not even noticing the rest of them had moved. Zevran followed his gaze, and saw that the Warden were looking at a statue off to the side. It was huge, much bigger than most of the other statues. 

The statue was of a male dwarf with a massive beard that fell halfway down to the stomach. In his hands were a large sword and an enormous shield with decorative engravings on. the bottom of the statue had a large golden plate with dwarven writing on it. The bottom were decorated with chains and other glittering jewelry. There were very impressive-looking swords, greataxes, shields and armor resting against the bottom of the statue. 

The text on the golden plate didn’t make much sense to Zevran. He looked around and noticed no other statue had the same large amount of jewelry and weapons at the bottom. 

“Hey, free loot.” Alistair whistled. Zevran looked up and saw the others had noticed the Wardens hesitation as well. 

Duran let out a snort, that carried a tint of an unusual bitterness. He gestured towards the statue.

“They catch you with some of that, you’ll be arrested quicker than a nug on a stick, and leave you some place where you’ll never see the sun again.” He said and grinned when Alistair visibly paled and shuddered.

The group continued, but Duran lingered a moment more. Zevran sent him a smile and lifted his eyebrow at the dwarf. The Warden was regarding the statue with a guarded look in his eyes, his thick brows slightly frowned. He turned his face and met the elven eyes looking at him.

“Aeducan.” Duran said the name with nothing louder than a whisper. The way he said it, the way he looked at the elf, it was as if a coil inside him had sprung and had released a part of the dwarf, Zevran had never seen before.

Zevran looked back at the statue. The name Aeducan rang a bell in his head, but he couldn’t put his finger on where he had heard it, or what it meant. The statue loomed over the dwarf and elf. 

“Someone important, I’m guessing?” Zevran asked. Duran sent him an amused smile. 

“Yeah, I suppose you can say that.” He said and let out a deep sigh, that felt like something he had held in for a very long time. He didn’t meet the elf’s eyes and didn’t speak further on the subject. He started moving and Zevran followed. They caught up with the others. 

“Are these Paragons your gods?” Leliana asked, as they walked past some more dwarves who were leaving a impressive-looking, beautiful longsword, at the bottom of another statue. 

“No.” Duran answered. “They’re our ancestors. You become a Paragon by doing great things in your lifetime. They are basically treated the way you guys treat The Maker, though, so I don’t blame you for thinking that.” He winked at Leliana, who smiled brightly back.

“War heroes, inventors. smiths. In theory, everyone can become a Paragon, if you work hard enough for it.” He continued and waved a hand towards the statues they passed.

“And in practice?” Wynne asked. 

“Well…” He said. “There hasn’t been a new Paragon now in years. The title is so powerful that The Assembly are very hesitant to throw the title around. Usually a Paragon isn’t named until after their death, because those with the title are basically as powerful as the King and it’s enough with with one crazy powerful bastard. Besides no one wants to share the power.”

“The last Paragon was Branka, but she disappeared a little over two years ago.” The dwarf said.

“Disappeared? Where to?” Alistair asked.

“The Deep Roads, of course.” Duran said, very matter of factly. “Took her whole House with her. They couldn’t find a trace of her.” 

“Her whole house? That seems excessive.” Alistair asked. 

Duran laughed. “Does any of you know anything about dwarven society?” 

When no one answered, all of them looking in any other direction than their leader, he barked out another laugh, and looked at them all with a crooked smile. “You’re lucky you’ve got me then.” He said. 

When they approached the giant door, they were all stopped by more guards, who demanded to know why the outside guards let outsiders in. Duran had to explain their situation and show the treaties once more. And as before, the moment the guards saw the Warden, a look of recognition dawned on them. Just as quick, that recognition turned to disgust and anger.

When they let the doormen pull open the door for them, a guard spat at the ground near Duran’s feet. He didn’t react to it, though and just walked through the door. The rest followed, but Zevran made sure to send the spitting guard the dirtiest look he could. 

The silence and tranquility of The Hall of Heroes came to an end, when the group officially entered Orzammar. Loud yelling could be heard from the moment they finally entered the ancient city. This couldn’t be good, Zevran thought to himself.

He took a moment to take in the place, as well. He had never been there, obviously, and yet what he could see of the ancient city didn’t really come as a surprise to him. It was almost exactly how he imagined it would look. Large structures, dwarven statues, merchant stalls. A giant bridge was across the room, and led to a large structure, cut into the stone walls that surrounded them with gigantic dwarven statues holding up the ceiling, so high up it looked like an entirely black sky, and not a rocky surface. Zevran half expected to see twinkling stars appear, but of course, nothing showed, but darkness.

An immense heat and glowing lights rose from underneath the bridge. Zevran had never seen lava before, but considering how it was able to light up an entire underground city, and seeing all the smoke and warmth that rose from the liquid fire, he decided on admiring the lovely golden glow from afar. 

“Welcome to Orzammar.” Duran said with a frown, despite a light, yet oddly bitter tone in his voice. “Maybe you aren’t so lucky I’m here after all...” He added in a quiet voice.

Zevran was the only one who seemed to notice, everyone else taking in the new surroundings and the group of yelling, angry dwarves in front of them. 

The yelling ahead of them got louder and as they got out into the open, they saw the two groups responsible. It was a small platform, that had two large walkways to the side and connected to a bridge, that led across the lava river below and to a huge rounded building. 

Some poor city guards stood to the side, and did everything they could to look like they didn’t notice the two groups, screaming and yelling at the doorway to the surface. 

Duran led the party to a halt, as the groups in the front suddenly quieted down. Two male dwarves stepped forward, one in noble clothes and a gray beard and the other cladded in heavy, expensive-looking armor, and a face full of thick, nicely braided blonde hair and beard. The men seemed to get ready to speak, which was sure to escalate the situation further. This kind of situation was very common in Antivia, Zevran thought to himself and found a bitter smile appear on his lips. 

He knew in his heart how he loved his homeland with his whole being. Yet the scene in front of the group reminded him of one of the many faces of Antivia he always found tedious. The backstabbing two faced politics that tore the his beloved country apart. Although, Zevran admitted, he had been a part of one of the groups greatly profiting of these conflicts. So how could he complain?

He turned his head to Duran, who stood next to him. The smile on the elf’s lips quickly dissolved. His dear Warden didn’t meet his eyes. His gaze were fixed on the unfolding scene. 

“It is the Assembly who makes a king, and a king, who nominates his successor. None of it is carried in the blood.” A harsh, yet calm voice rang out and it made Zevran look up. 

Zevran had a rule for himself, not to mess too much with people, who appeared too calm in threatening situations. He had often found, that they were always the craziest ones. The noble stood perfectly still in the midst of many armored dwarves, with large weapons attached. He didn’t seem bothered at all, as if he was having a normal conversation about the weather.

Zevran looked back at Duran, but the dwarf still didn’t meet his eyes. His eyes were pinned on an armored dwarf, who had stepped forward. The dwarf walked closer to the noble. He walked with his head so high, he might have hit the ceiling on the way. His face was twisted into an angry sneer, not at all like the calm noble. 

“Or as now,” The dwarf said loudly. “when someone tries to use the Assembly to pull a coup. Who’s to say what my father said in his final hours, when the usurper Harrowmont was the only one by his side!” He spoke in a way, that portrayed a noble upbringing with a high education. It made Zevran pause for half a second. The way this dwarf spoke, the tilt to his words, the curl of his tongue, it sounded oddly familiar. 

The group behind the armored dwarf roared in approval. The armored dwarf’s taunt seemed to anger the noble. He frowned deeply and his mouth pressed to a thin line.

“I’ll have you thrown in prison!” He simply stated, but the words dripped with venom.

The armored prince matched his opponent’s outraged look. 

“You’ve bitten off more than you can chew!” He spat and the dwarves behind him roared in agreement. 

“Handlers!” A dwarf in armor stepped forward, from behind the noble. He gestured to the city guards, who seemed too busy looking too busy. “Separate these deshyrs in the Diamond Quarter! I will not have Bhelen incite a riot!!” 

A blond dwarf who had been standing directly behind this so called prince, jumped up and rushed forward, with a large battleaxe drawn.

“You’ll not speak that way about the man, who should be king!” He roared and swung the axe high. He hit the dwarf, who had spoken up. The dwarf fell and managed to just look up, before the other smashed the axe down, and struck his victim in the stomach. 

Blood sprayed up from the wound and the dwarf screamed out in pain. A group of other armored dwarves jumped in front of the noble, who was ushered away by other dwarves. Full panic erupted in the streets. 

The groups clashed and the sound of swords and other weapons being drawn and swung were heard. Bystanders screamed and ran around, hiding where they could.   
  
Zevran looked back at Duran, who still didn’t move. The elf looked up at the others. They seemed just as confused as he was. Normally their leader would jump into action, when people were in trouble, but the Warden stood completely still. He didn’t lift a muscle.

The city guards scrambled about, ushering civilians out of dangers way, but they didn’t approach the fighting. At least not until another group of guards came as reinforcement. One of the guards, who ran in the front, were screaming dwarven profanities at all and everyone in his way. 

Just as sudden as the fighting had started, the two groups evaporated, as steam in the warm sun. Or heated lava, Zevran assumed, given the place and situation. The groups split and ran in opposite directions. 

The swearing guard stood in the middle of the platform, barking orders at everyone. Zevran heard a deep sigh from Duran next to him. The Warden started moving, which set all of them into motion again. 

They approached the guard in the middle.

“Stone-blind idiots!” He cursed and spat at the ground. “I wont have fighting in the commons! Especially in front of outsiders…” The last bit came off with a touch of ice. 

The guard turned to them all and, just as the guards at the doors, the second his eyes fell on Duran, his eyes widened in surprise and then his face twisted into to a deep angry scowl. Zevran had thought the guard looked pissed off before, but this was much more intense. 

“Exile.” He spat the word out with so much anger, Zevran could almost feel the sting. “You were not to show your face here again. I’ve enough crime to deal with, I shouldn’t have to dump you back into the Deep Roads.” 

Zevran paused. He knew his Warden had been to the Deep Roads before, but what this guard said, it suggested something else. He looked around and saw the others also had caught the comment and everyone looked confused to their leader. 

Duran didn’t look back, his attention was on the guard. 

“I have a new House. The Grey Wardens.” Duran answered, with a flat voice. 

The guard let out a mocking grunt as an answer. “That’s right, you found pity topside…” 

For the first time, the guard looked around at the others. His small beady eyes narrowed. Maybe he suspected them all to be guilty of whatever crime Duran had committed to be exiled. Or maybe it was just because they didn’t get such a colorful group of visitors very often. 

“The Wardens should have better sense when choosing allies.” He then said coldly. “Surfacers and their cloud-addled heads…” 

Duran’s gaze didn’t waver from the guard, despite the insults. For a moment, a tense silence fell on them, the two dwarves seemingly having a conversation through enraged looks only. 

Eventually, the guard seemingly gave in, sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his spot. “Fine. Oh, illustrious Grey Warden,” He said, with the mockery thick in his voice. “What do you want?”

“A Blight is coming and I need Orzammar’s assistance.” Duran said. 

“Surface problems…” The guard grumbled angrily. “Well, we have no king to hear you, as I’m sure you know. You can join the shouting at the Assembly in the Diamond Quarter, if you want.”

Duran opened his mouth to answer, but the guard apparently weren’t done complaining. 

“Bunch of deshyr lords bickering over sand.” He spoke bitterly. “Bhelen, Harrowmont… is one so different? No Paragons here.” 

Once more, Duran opened his mouth to answer, but the second he did that, a shriek came from their left side. Zevran turned and saw two dwarves in dirty poor looking leather armor cornered a female dwarf down by the market stans. No one were jumping to her defense. 

The guard they were talking to sighed deeply and gestured to two other guards to his right, who walked towards the situation with no hurry. 

“How can the city even function like this?” Duran then asked, as they watched the guards threaten the thieves. They left, but not without some attitude. 

The guard snorted bitterly. “You can blame yourself for that. The deaths in your House brought us here. And still, the tavern is open and the market is busy. Orzammar has suffered worse, the Ancestors will see us through!” 

Duran eyed the dwarf wearily. He then looked to the side and caught Zevran’s eye. 

He lifted his eyebrow at the elf, and then rolled his eyes back at the guard. Zevran immediately understood. Do you see what I mean? they’re all crazy down here. He sent the dwarf a crooked smile

“Then, Harrowmont and Bhelen are the ones I need.” Duran decided. The guard let out another snorting sound. 

“They’ve caged themselves for fear of each other.” The guard explained. “As you’ve seen, keeping order down among us working people is dodgy. No place for a proper lord.” 

The guard spat angrily at the ground. At least it wasn’t precisely directed at Duran, like before. Still Zevran felt the same heat of animosity rise in him. 

“Just tell me where to go and we’ll be on our way.” Duran said.

The guard sent them all a dirty look. “Bhelen speaks through his second, Vartag Cavorn, in the Assembly. Lord Harrowmont speaks through Dulin Forrender from his estate.” He said. 

“Thank you.” Duran said, turned his back fully to the guard and regarded his companions. The guard stared daggers into his back for a moment, then walked away, presumably to bark more orders, at the guards around him. 

“So!” Duran looked up at them and rubbed his hands together. He sent them all a exasperated smile. 

“Was it too much to hope we could just go in, met the King and get out in one day?” Alistair asked. 

“Since when have we been so fortunate?” Duran chuckled darkly. 

“Duran,” Wynne started softly. “What that guard said about-“ 

“Not here.” Duran interrupted, and his dark green eyes darted from one side to the other, checking for unwanted listeners. “Not now.” A dark cloud grew over the Wardens face as he then regarded them all, watching to see if anyone would challenge him. 

No one spoke. They all looked at their smaller, burly leader. Zevran stared intently at his Warden to try and catch his eye, but Duran’s gaze suddenly seemed to be on everyone but the elf. Zevran found the sting in his chest very unwelcome. 

After a second, they all earned an affirmative grunt and a nod from the Warden.

“Okay then!” The dwarf flashed them a thin smile. “Should we find a place, to set up a new plan of attack?”

“Well, is there a tavern of a sort down here?” Alistair asked. 

“Of course there is.” Duran said, with an amused tint to his voice. “I think it’s time I show you all what real, authentic dwarven ale taste like.” 

“There’s dwarven ale on the surface.” Alistair pointed out.

Duran scoffed. “That sappy, foul cow piss you surfacers call dwarven ale has nothing on the real thing.” 

And with that, he started to walk and the group followed. 

He led them all to a large staircase, to the side of the platform. The few dwarves present were still recovering from the fight earlier, but slowly more came forth from their hiding spots. The merchants slowly popped up from underneath their stall tables. 

As they made their way through the marketplace Zevran could feel the eyes of basically around them. 

They must not get many visitors down here, he thought to himself, the way they were staring at them. Granted, they always seemed to attract attention wherever they went, considering how odd of an assembly they were, a lovely mix of all races, genders and conscious, moving rock statues. But the way these dwarves were staring, you’d think they weren’t even aware of the surface world's existence and the many different people and cultures that lived there. 

He couldn’t help but glance at the merchants tables, as they passed through, and a small breath of a laugh escaped him, when he saw the pitiful amount of wares presented. It made the market outside seem almost deserving of being described as rich and exciting. Granted, there were more people around the little booths, dwarves in colorful clothing, arguing about prizes and quality, just like their surface brothers, as if the fight before had never happened. And yet every shop seemed to be stripped thin on their offerings. A pitiful sight, to be sure.

The Warden walked with certainty in his step, as one would when showing a friend a secret childhood hideout. A trip one had taken many times. It didn’t surprise Zevran, as he knew his dwarven dear companion were not shy about boasting of past escapades in such a place. 

They walked up the few steps to the large door, leading to Tapster’s Tavern. 

Inside, the tavern looked just as you’d expect from a dwarven city, in the midst of a civil war. Zevran could see two dwarves on the little stage, one pathetically blowing into a horn, that were longer and bigger than him, and one aggressively smacking a large drum, with what seemed to be a wooden spoon. The noises, this setup would produce, were complete drowned in the yelling, singing, fighting and roars of, what Zevran assumed, were laughs. Mugs with ale, chairs, helmets and even a screeching nug were being tossed over every head. A dwarf, face almost completely hidden by hair and beard, jumped up and tossed the guy next to him across the table. The poor fellow glided all the way down the longtable and slammed into the guy at the end, who greeted him with a ale mug to the head. 

Duran smiled widely. “Ahh,” He let out a content sigh. “My home away from home.”. 

When they passed the bar, a shrilling scream reached Zevran’s ear over the jolly, drunk dwarven noises, and he looked to the source. The barmaid, an older female dwarf, with graying red hair tied in a tall bun on the top of her head, and an impressive looking braided beard, came running forth, from behind the bar. She ran from the bar to Duran and didn’t stop until she stood nose to nose with him. 

“You!!!” She shrieked in his face. Zevran felt himself jump a little in his shoes, and stared at the odd display in front of him. He felt his hand search for his dagger, concealed in his coat. 

Duran didn’t move, didn’t reach for his weapons, and so the rest of them didn’t either. Instead the Warden stared at the barmaid, looking completely discomposed. Few of the patrons that surrounded them, turned around. They all looked drunk and confused, until one dawned the familiar look of recognition, and hissed something in the ear of his drinking buddy to his left. 

“Glogira… I-” Duran seemingly having gathered himself somewhat, but were interrupted with a snort and a spit, from the red headed dwarf in front of him. The spit hit The Warden straight between his thick brows. 

“You!!” She repeated and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “How dare you show your face in here, murderer!”. 

“Kinslayer!” A voice from the crowd yelled. Some of the drunkards rose from their seats, swaying in the haze of ale, and started to close in on them. 

None of them did anything but watch, as The Warden slowly started to back away from Glogira, who looked about ready to pounce on him with her fists shaking. Zevran let his hand find and close around the dagger, in his coat.

“Wait!” Leliana’s clear, soft voice rang over them and made the dwarves closest to them pause, including Glogira, who stopped shaking and looked up. 

“Please, we are just looking a warm place to rest for the night.” Leliana walked up to Glogira, who looked at her, like she was looking at some unknown creature. “We’ll be gone before you know it, I promise you.” 

Glogira blinked at her, looking at Leliana, as if she was a fade spirit in the flesh. Then she turned her attention, and regarded the whole group for the first time. Confusion was knitted throughout her thick eyebrows. 

She then barked out a laugh. The men around her joined her, in what increasingly became mocking and contemptuous. 

“That’s cute, human!” Glogira said, with her nose held high. “But the company you keep,” She sent a venomous look in Durans direction. “that tells me more than enough about you. No rooms for any of you!”. 

The dwarves had all but surrounded them. Those of them who didn’t already have a weapon, grabbed what was around them. Zevran even noticed a dwarf pick up his tankard and jabbed it at their direction, as one would with a sword.

He looked to Duran, but as was becoming a regular occurance deep in this mountain, his Warden didn’t move a muscle. His eyes were pinned to Glogira, who were advancing with her rowdy, drunk patrons. 

Zevran noticed out of the corner of his eye, that Sten and Morrigan were also reaching behind them for their weapons. 

What are your thoughts, my love? He felt his heart beat hard in his chest. Not out of fear, these drunkards would be easily disposed of, were it to come to that. But a desperation build up within him, making his blood rush and heart gallop, and not in the good way. Just turn around. Turn your back on them. Look me in the eyes. Tell me what’s on your mind, and let me help you carry your heavy burden. 

His hand curled tightly around the dagger, still hidden. He made to unveil it, when another voice joined in. 

“We can pay?” Zevran heard Alistair, stood next to him, exclaim. He held his hands up, in a show of surrender. 

The surrounding group of drunk dwarves all hesitated and looked to Glogira, who also looked at Alistair with a lifted eyebrow. She seemed to mull over the situation for a moment. After a moment and several fast heartbeats, she put her hands on her hips and looked to Alistair, completely ignoring the rest of them, and once again put her nose up as she spoke. 

“It won’t be cheap, human!” She said. 

“Uh... “ Alistair looked to the side, trying to catch Duran’s eyes. Zevran saw the poor bastard prince squirm in his boots, under the intense stare of the fiery barmaid. He couldn’t help the smirk, that grew on his lips, at the sight. Alistair had obviously gotten comfortable under Duran’s leadership, and weren’t used to being the one addressed.

“Uh.. yeah? I mean, we can. Yeah.” He squeaked. Duran didn’t meet anyone's eyes. He didn’t even lift his head, although he did reach into his backpack, fished up a fat coinpurse and handed it to his fellow Grey Warden. Alistair took it hesitantly, staring intensely at him, and held it to Glogira, who immediately grabbed it. She glanced a look into the purse and grinned. 

“Oh yes! This’ll do nicely.” She said. She then looked up and let her eyes glide over the whole group, ending on Duran. The angry scowl came back to her features. 

“However,” She then declared. “one room. For one night.” 

Zevran felt himself let out a little breath of laugh in disbelief. Rarely did he find himself this dumbfounded, so taken aback by the situation, and this was definitely the cherry on top. The rest of them didn’t seem to buy into it either. Morrigan reacted by smacking Alistair on the back of his head. He jumped in his boots. 

“Uhh…” Alistair stumbled. “We’re all gonna stay there.” 

“So?” 

“We’re a group of eight and a dog.” 

Glogira only laughed and some of the drunkards behind her joined her. 

“I don’t see the problem, surfacer!” She barked another laugh and dropped the coinpurse down her cleavage. Surely a safe and secure place, Zevran thought bitterly. The barmaid ripped a key from her pouch on her belt and handed it to Alistair. She turned her back to them and marched back behind the bar. 

The drunk bar patrons were looking hesitantly around. They all seemed disappointed, that there were not gonna be a fight. Then, the tankard wielding dwarf swung his trustly weapon around so hard, he smacked it into the face of the guy next to him. This one happened to actually have a weapon, that were quickly drawn and smashed into the tankard dwarf who toppled over. The dwarves cheered out loud, and all seemed to grab the man next to them. 

Zevran took in the scene of the bar fight. No one of them seemed to remember their guest’s presence at all, and why they even started the fight. It was all so incredibly dwarven. 

Alistair stood with the key in his hand, looking lost. 

Wynne took pity on him, and took the key from him with a smile. 

“Well,” She said, checking the room number tied to the key. “Let’s take a look at our shared space, then.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know when ill post again, it might be a while, but dont worry, even if im the last person in this fandom and no one is left to read this, i Will finish this story! but now we're gonna start getting to the meat of this story im so excited!  
also yeah in this version of Thedas dwarven women have majestic beards because im not a coward fuckin fight me bioware
> 
> sorry for any mistakes english isn't my first language <3


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